


(No) Reason For Concern

by testifytime



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Consort Fenris, M/M, Multi, Prince Sebastian, Slave Anders, Slave Justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testifytime/pseuds/testifytime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian and Fenris have a worrying discussion in Starkhaven's palace, while Anders and Justice spend time alone together without rush for the first time in months.</p>
<p>Only a one shot, though both parts could be read as separate stories. Two short snippets of an AU life, with Sebastian as Prince with Fenris as his consort, and Anders and Justice as captured slaves. A simple excuse for kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(No) Reason For Concern

The palace hall was blessedly quiet. The nobles that hounded his heels and nipped for control over his throne were, finally, dispersed from the arching chamber, leaving behind only the weary Prince. With a thankful sigh, Sebastian slid down into his seat, the plush purple cushion comforting the small of his back as the rest slumped against the hard wood of the backrest, beautifully decorated with images of the Bride Andraste, but not overly comfortable on the spine. He winced slightly, leaning forwards to hunch in on himself a little more as he rubbed his aching back.

“You seem tense, Sebastian.”

Prince Sebastian Vael’s eyes flickered over towards the small door of the servant’s entrance, a smile playing on his lips. His trusted bodyguard rested his shoulder against the frame of the door, one black eyebrow raised in amusement as piercing green eyes flickered, momentarily, to the ground before the elf dragged them back up. Avoiding the eye contact of your betters was an instinct reaction he had not managed to release just yet, but he had improved in leaps and bounds from when he had first walked into the palace, a slave.

Sebastian shook his head to clear it of his thoughts and waved his bodyguard over, rubbing tiredly at his brow. “These nobles are wearing thin on my patience, Fenris. No matter what I do, they are always displeased with one thing or another. I have put too much money towards the poor, or I have not given a high-standing noble a soft enough bed, or I have looked at a Viscountess with the ‘intent to please’, as one man accused. I am the Prince; surely these trivial things should not matter?”

His bitter tone as he spoke wrought a soft chuckle from Fenris, who not at on the edge og the grand table directly in front of his Prince. He reached behind himself to grab a bottle of spiced wine and two glasses, pouring them until the glasses were half full before handing one to Sebastian and cradling the other to his chest.

Sebastian gratefully took the glass from him, and Fenris waited for him to take a sip before he spoke. “You are the Prince, Sebastian. Nobles will only be pleased when they know you are doing everything they ask and are pouring money into a pot they have already filled with riches.”

The Prince gave a bitter snort, sipping the wine in his hand tenderly. “If they believe I am going to make them richer while the majority of my people starve, then they are sorely mistaken. It is my duty as the Prince of Starkhaven to ensure the people’s wellbeing and the continuation of the land – something I cannot do if greedy nobles continue to try and steal the money from my very hands.

Fenris hummed his agreement, taking a deep swig from his glass of wine, drawing an amused laugh from Sebastian. The bodyguard was used to drinking on his own or with the servants, where etiquette was vastly forgotten. He often drank wine straight from the bottle in deep pulls, only stopping when his fingers couldn’t rightly clasp around the neck. Leaning to drink from a glass has been one of Fenris’ more amusing lessons, if Sebastian remembered correctly; the first few times they had tried, the elf had thrown the goblet at the noble teaching him in anger, and on the second attempt had managed to insult both his wife and his daughter with a stream of curses.

Fenris finished his wine in two deep swigs, reaching out for the bottle to refill his glass. His fingers tapped against the neck as he poured his drink, his brow furrowed as he placed the bottle down and took a slower, shallower sip of the wine. He was contemplating something, Sebastian realised with a sigh; something he thought Sebastian wouldn’t like.

The Prince waved his hands to prompt Fenris to speak, rubbing from the bridge of his nose to the middle of his forehead, already feeling a headache form. The elf hesitated for a moment, took another deep swig from his wine, and slammed the glass down with an echoing thud.

“There are some who think you are weak, Sebastian. You have shown that you are willing to lead the country and that you are good to your countrymen, and yet…” He trailed off, tone wary as he eyed the Prince carefully to gauge his reaction. “You have not yet taken a mage.”

Sebastian’s jaw twitched. This was something they had gone over several times, and each time he had voiced his displeasure for the idea; Fenris didn’t seem inclined to let it go. “Fenris, you are my closest and most trusted friend. I have told you why I cannot go through with this ridiculous trend the nobles are trying to bring into fashion.”

  
Fenris growled lowly, having anticipated Sebastian’s stubbornness, and slammed his fist into the wooden table. The Prince flinched, eyeing the gouges the elf’s spiked armour had left in the wood warily. His friend was frustrated, and, as he poured himself yet another glass of wine, Sebastian guessed that he was also strained.

Something must have changed.

With a long pull, the wine in the glass was gone, and Fenris slammed it down onto the table, wiping his mouth free of any lingering droplets on the back of his hand. “They think you are  _weak_ , Sebastian. You may have your reasons, but they are not reasons you have told to the nobles, nor are they reasons they would willingly accept.” He sighed heavily through his nose, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Displeasing the nobles at this stage is a considerably bad idea. We must have their support if Starkhaven is to thrive.”

The two men stared at eachother for a long moment in silence, both pairs of eyes narrowed in defiance as Sebastian swirled his wine around the glass and Fenris dug the claws of his gauntlets into the table. Sebastian was the first to break their staring contest, his eyes flickering down to the swirling red liquid as his lips pulled into a thin line.

“I understand,” he announced slowly, lifting his eyes back up to Fenris’ face. The elf was smirking at him triumphantly, drawing an abrupt laugh from Sebastian’s lips.

Fenris stood, padding softly towards Sebastian. His bare feet hardly made a sound on the marble floor, though the Prince was barely paying attention to that. He sat up straight, placing his glass on the throne’s armrest with a smirk as Fenris, eyes hooded, slid onto his lap, resting his knees on either side of the Prince’s hips. Sebastian’s hands quickly found Fenris’ waist, stroking up his sides to slide around and run across his muscled back. Fenris shivered, though his eyes stayed open and locked on to Sebastian’s as he wrapped his arms around the Prince’s neck, long fingers playing with the baby soft hairs there.

“I am glad you see it my way, Sebastian.” He murmured, eyes darkening as he leant down to brush their lips together teasingly.

Sebastian’s hands trailed down to the small of Fenris’ back, cupping his hips as he flicked out his tongue to run across the elf’s lips, drawing him down for a slow kiss as he chuckled lowly in his throat. “Is there ever a time that I do not?”

Fenris laughed, green eyes dancing with amusement. “No, there is not. My way often is the best way, however.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sebastian lunged up to press their lips together, silencing Fenris with his tongue and teeth. Soft vibrations against hips lips gave away the elf’s laughter, which he swiftly chased away into a low moan with a light squeeze to Fenris’ hips.

They would go out tomorrow, the Prince decided. Now, however, he would distract his bodyguard from any further thought on the matter until it was time.

 

* * *

 

The holding cells were filthy. Muck and grime covered the floors and walls in thick layers, turning everything that touched them a disgusting black. A liquid he tried hard not to think about spread across the floor in the furthest corner of the room, trickling slowly from the ceiling and down the wall. The slaves were being silent today, for some reason. Normally there was a cacophony of noise from the screams of children and the angry snarls of mad men, yet today it was blessedly quiet. It was a small miracle not to be woken by the dying screams of a mage being beaten to death for amusement.

Anders groaned softly as he stretched his thin body across the only clean part of the floor in the room, yawning as his back popped slowly into place. The guards hadn’t been around yet, he mused, and though there were no windows with which to see the sun in order to tell the time, Anders’ body clock told him that it was a scant few minutes after sunrise. He paused for a moment to wonder why nobody had yet come to wake them up, shouting at them through the bars of their door. He quickly sent the thought away; there was no point to worrying about why things were not the way they normally were, especially when such times of peace were few and far between.

Turning around in the filth was something the mage had become used to during his long stay in the slaver’s den. It had disgusted him, at first, to feel the slime stick to his skin and paint his pale flesh a crude black, sliding into parts of his body he would have rather to keep clean. Now, however, after months of living in the bleak conditions, he had become used to the sensation of grime between his thighs, and it had merely become an unpleasant inconvenience whenever some of it got into his mouth or glued his eyes shut. 

Behind him – or rather, now in front of him – lay the only other occupant of the small cell they both were kept in, his eyes shut and his mouth partly open as he slept. He was a handsome man, when he was not bathed in the dirt that lined their room. His face was thin but strong, his jaw squared and his lips thin. His nose was slightly crooked from a punch it had taken when they had first arrived in the slaver’s den, given to him by the slave master himself when the man had refused to allow the slavers to separate them. Between the two of them, he had gotten off with the lesser injury; the slave master had been rushed away with a broken arm, shattered under the tight grip his companion had held it in.

Anders smiled as the man slept. His face was more often than not strained with worry and anger, the worry often directed at Anders whereas the anger was often directed at himself - for allowing them both to be captured, as he so often bitterly told the mage. In sleep, however, his face was relaxed and calm, the stress of their situation gone from his features in place for blessed peace. Anders reached out to run his index finger across the man’s brow, tracing over the smoothed out frown lines. He looked much better like this.

“Justice,” Anders whispered softly, his finger trailing a line down the side of the spirit’s face so he could tenderly cup his jaw. He shuffled closer, stopping only when their noses bumped together, and smiled, stroking his thumb along the slightly pronounced cheekbone. “Justice, wake up.”

“I already am.” Justice’s voice was deep, thick with the remnants of sleep and fond amusement. He trailed a grime-slick hand up Anders’ side, pressing his palm to the middle of the mage’s back to press him closer to his chest. “You are merely too unobservant to tell.”

Anders’ cheeks puffed out indignantly. He watched as Justice slowly opened his eyes, lyrium blue irises glowing faintly with power in the darkness of their room, and locked their gazes together with eager anticipation. There were scarce few moments where both mage and spirit could allow themselves the pleasure of resting in eachother’s arms.  Slavers were always watching, waiting for any sign of weakness that they could exploit to make their slaves break and bend to their will, to become nothing more than the mindless puppets the nobles liked their mages to be. Anders, though he feared the slavers, feared the tranquil states they beat their mages into, and refused to allow himself to fall so low. If not for himself, then for Justice, who stared at him openly with such love and devotion now that he could spare the time to show it.

“I am not unobservant,” Anders murmured, eyes searching the unmoving and unwavering gaze Justice held him in, “You merely sleep like the dead. It is impossible to tell when you’re awake and when you’re sleeping.”

Justice’s lips twitched up slightly in amusement, one sleek eyebrow raised as he stared, silently, at Anders. The mage snorted and rolled his eyes, muttering a soft, “I am not,” before the spirit wrapped his free arm beneath him, curling it around Anders’ bony hips to cup the flesh of his stomach, his fingers playing with the fine hairs there. 

The movement was so normal and yet it was so perfect; it made Anders’ chest feel warm and a smile bloom across his lips. Nothing, he decided could feel any safer, any warmer, than when his spirit had him wrapped so tightly within the circle of his arms.

Anders leant forwards slowly, their noses rubbing together as he moved in, and a soft laugh left his lips before he could stop it. He felt, for a moment, overly childish and free; the awkward bump of noses instead of lips, the gently embrace of two lovers new to what they had found, and so true, he supposed, to their own situation, as Justice had not loved before they had met – as no spirit ever would before they found their mage.

Justice’s chest rumbled with a deep chuckle, amusement dancing in lyrium blue eyes, before he leant in, his head tilted to the side, to slide their lips tenderly together. Muck, grime and filth covered their lips in a watery film, making every innocent press of lips so far from perfect and yet so very real. Justice tightened his grip on Anders’ hips, pulling him closer to twine their legs together as he cupped the mage’s face, his palm on his cheek and his thumb softly stroking his brow. Each kiss lingered for a longer period of time, every brush of fingertips gentle against Justice’s cheek and Anders’ brow, as if they were delicate, fragile – or perhaps they both were scared that, if they weren’t careful, their moment together could shatter around them, as it had so many times before.

When, eventually, they pulled back, their foreheads resting together, staring into eachother’s eyes with soft smiles, it was on their own terms, and not because the sound of footsteps squelching in the grime outside their cell was growing nearer. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not too sure what this even is. I got bored, and it sounded like a good idea. It was, perhaps, going to be a multi-chapter fic, but now I'm honestly not too sure. Ah well, at least I have this much. That in itself is an achievement.


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